Hope
by Chapin CSI
Summary: It's GSR, but from Greg's perspective. Spoiler: Living Doll. Drama. After Sara's kidnapping, Grissom and Greg join forces to rescue her. New: The rescue. No spoilers from LD part two
1. Chapter 1

HOPE

Spoiler: Fannysmakin' and Living Doll. I haven't seen the finale -nor any of this season's last 5 episodes- but I've seen a few videos. This is my take on what could happen after Living Doll.

------------------------

"Greg, pass me that photo, will you?"

Greg looked up when he heard his name but didn't move.

"The photo?" Warrick repeated, reaching across the table for the picture in Greg's hand.

Greg hesitated. The picture depicted the Sara doll lying on the miniature crime scene, and he felt oddly protective of it.

"Come on, man," Warrick demanded impatiently, and Greg finally handed it over.

It was just as well, Greg realized. He'd been looking at that picture for what felt like hours, and he hadn't been able to get anything out of it. If Warrick thought he could do something with the picture, then he was welcome to it.

Mechanically, Greg picked up a picture of the red car but didn't look at it. Instead, he glanced around.

Nick and Catherine were studying the pictures taken at the miniature killer's place while Warrick examined every piece of evidence related to Sara's kidnapping.

They were in the Layout Room, and they were anxiously trying to find answers as to Sara's whereabouts. By now, each one of them had come up with some theory, only to have it dismissed by the other two.

Patience was running thin.

Greg had tried to contribute ideas, but try as he might, he couldn't come up with anything. He just couldn't concentrate.

His feelings kept interfering.

They didn't hinder him at first. On the contrary; right at the beginning, anger had fueled much of his actions. Like Nick and Warrick, he was just as indignant at the thought that one of their own had become a victim.

But while Nick and Warrick were still angry, gruffly discussing clues among themselves, Greg's own anger had vanished all too quickly, only to be replaced by anguish and a sense of doom.

The problem was that Greg knew all too well what it was like to be at the mercy of an unscrupulous criminal. He knew what it felt like to lose all hope. The memories of his own ordeal kept intruding, making it impossible for him to remain objective.

Right now, all he could think of was that Sara was all alone in the desert, at the mercy of the elements and all kinds of danger. Maybe she was wounded -

Greg's vision suddenly blurred.

He impatiently blinked back the tears. This wasn't helping. His friends were all trying to come up with solutions, and there he was, crying like a baby.

He couldn't stay in this room another minute.

He knew he would betray Sara by leaving the Layout Room, but he couldn't stand being there any longer. There was nothing he could do anyway.

Muttering, 'I'll be right back,' he left the room.

He doubted anyone noticed.

------

Once in the hallway, Greg found he had nowhere to go. All around him people moved purposefully, while he alone seemed unable to do anything but grieve.

It wasn't until some of the lab technicians started glancing curiously at him that Greg felt compelled to move. He walked aimlessly, or so it seemed to him. But when he looked up, he realized his steps had led him to the one place where all his questions had been answered at one time or another. Grissom's office.

The blinds were down, but there was a light inside, and the door was ajar. Greg peered inside. Grissom was there, staring at something on the desk.

It suddenly dawned on Greg that there was someone who was probably hurting just as much over Sara's disappearance. Just a few hours before, Grissom had revealed that Sara was the only person he'd ever loved.

Not that he said it in so many words; he probably didn't even realize what he was saying until he saw the stunned expressions on his colleagues -and maybe, not even then. At the time he had something more important to think of: Catching Sara's kidnapper.

And they'd caught her, all right.

Unfortunately, Natalie Davis had not yielded any information so far. Grissom had tried to shake a confession out of her but failed.

Now the Miniature Killer was in a detention room in a near-catatonic state (prompting her lawyer to make allegations of police brutality), the boss had retreated into his office, and the only hope to find Sara lay in the hands of people who were too shell-shocked to be of any use.

Greg stared at his boss for just another moment, and then he resolutely retraced his steps. He needed something from the break room.

----

Greg entered Grissom's office and closed the door behind him. He had a cup of coffee with him -an offering of sorts. He didn't dare interrupt Grissom; he stood by the door, waiting for Grissom to acknowledge his presence.

The Supervisor's attention however, was solely focused on the pictures on his desk. He was studying them one by one -sometimes with a magnifying glass but mostly by sight alone. The only time he looked up was to check something in his computer.

He didn't notice that Greg had there, not even when the young man approached his desk. It wasn't until Greg put the cup of coffee into his line of vision that Grissom finally realized he wasn't alone in the office.

He stared expressionlessly at the coffee.

"I thought you might want some of this," Greg said kindly.

"No," Grissom muttered, turning his attention back to the picture in front of him.

Greg wasn't discouraged; he simply held the cup of coffee in the air, waiting for Grissom to take it.

Grissom impatiently put down the magnifying glass. He was going to say something but he paused as soon as he looked at Greg. He seemed surprised to see the young man there.

Or maybe it was what he saw in Greg's face what made him pause.

Greg had caught a glimpse of his own face in the break room, so he already knew how bad he looked: he was pale and he had dark circles under his eyes. Truth to be told, he looked like he was going to lose it at any moment.

Grissom obviously took pity on him. He silently accepted the cup of coffee and set it on the table.

He reluctantly looked at Greg again.

Greg didn't know exactly what to say.

"I'm going crazy, Grissom," he blurted out. "It's hell for me; for all of us -"

Grissom looked down.

Greg lowered his voice to add, "I can't imagine what it must be like for you to -"

"Greg."

Greg paused. Grissom's expression remained inscrutable but the tone he used was one Greg knew well. It meant that he was busy and didn't have time to spare.

Mostly, it meant that he wanted to be alone.

In other circumstances, Greg would have taken the hint and left. But not this time. He needed to talk. There were things about Sara that he needed to share and, while Grissom would probably not appreciate hearing them, he was the only person in the world who would understand.

Greg gulped down.

"I love her, too," he said quietly.

He waited for Grissom's reaction, but the older man didn't even move. His gaze remained on the pictures on the desk.

"I used to have the biggest crush on her -" Greg added, and this time Grissom did look up. He didn't say anything, though; he only nodded.

"I know," he said softly.

"She knew, too," Greg admitted. "I told her. She was sweet about it," he added with a faint smile. "She said that -"

Greg tried to say more but couldn't. He took a deep breath.

"Anyway," he said in a slightly different tone, "About a year ago I noticed a change in her. She seemed, I don't know -" he paused. He looked at Grissom, "You know how difficult is to convince her that she's pretty?"

Grissom smiled a little and nodded.

"Well, she looked like she _knew_ at last," Greg said, "She looked calm. Content. It looked like she'd found herself a boyfriend, and, well, I was jealous at first," he admitted sheepishly, "'Cause, you know."

Grissom nodded again.

"But then I thought, hey, if she's happy, then I'm happy. 'Cause she's a friend, you know. And friends support each other, no matter what."

Grissom's face remained expressionless throughout Greg's speech. To his credit, he was listening to the young man with all the patience he was capable of.

"You're her mystery man," Greg said suddenly. It wasn't a question, but he did wait until he saw Grissom nod almost imperceptibly.

Greg looked curiously at him.

"Have you told her how you feel about her?"

Grissom opened his mouth but didn't immediately answer.

"She knows," he said simply.

Greg smiled faintly, "You know, it's funny, 'cause a few months ago Nick said it looked like _you_ had got yourself a girlfriend. But we never put two and two together. Some investigators, huh? I thought -"

"Greg," Grissom said again. His patience was running thin.

"Sorry," Greg muttered apologetically. He looked at the pictures on the table. "You've got anything?"

Grissom shook his head.

"Not yet."

"What are you looking for?" Greg asked.

"There were clues in each of the miniatures that Natalie Davis left behind," Grissom said, "When she set out to kill the psychiatrist, there were enough clues -only we didn't find them on time. That's what I'm looking for now."

"Do you think she would leave any clues this time too?"

"It's part of her MO," Grissom replied. He glanced at the pictures on the desk, "I _believe_ there's something in here. Sometimes I feel that the answer's right there in front of me but -" he shook his head tiredly. "I keep missing something."

He sighed and leant back in his chair.

Greg looked worriedly at him. He'd come to Grissom's office in part because the boss had a knack for pointing him into the right direction whenever he was in trouble over an investigation. To hear Grissom admit defeat was scary.

"You need to stay focused, Grissom."

"I know. It's just… I keep thinking of all the mistakes I made in this case."

Greg frowned.

"What mistakes?"

"Ecklie wanted to go public and I didn't let him," Grissom said regretfully, "He offered to get us a profiler and I said we didn't need it…" he shook his head, "I thought _I_ could solve this -"

"You still can," Greg said firmly.

Grissom nodded and resignedly reached for the nearest picture. He paused when he noticed that Greg was still standing there.

"You don't need help?" Greg asked hopefully.

Grissom shook his head.

"Go back to the Layout Room, Greg. This is something I need to do on my own."

"You're wrong."

Grissom's eyebrows lifted in surprise. It wasn't every day that his youngest CSI –or anyone else, for that matter- told him that he was wrong. But he was the kind of person who readily admitted his mistakes, and so he waited for Greg to explain.

"You can't go on like this." Greg said. "You keep looking at the pictures but you don't see anything, right? You can't concentrate," Greg said knowingly, "You know why?" He paused but didn't wait for Grissom's reply. "Because your feelings are doing a number in your head," he said.

Greg picked up one of the pictures at random and placed it before Grissom. It showed the Sara doll lying face-down on the ground.

"See this?" Greg asked. "Every time you look at this picture, you don't see the doll; you see _Sara_. You're looking at her and thinking how lonely she must feel, how terrified -" he gulped. "You're wondering if she's in pain -"

To Greg's surprise, Grissom's face crumpled. There was no other way to describe it. Grissom put himself together quickly, but for a few seconds he'd let the depth of his pain show.

It was only then that Greg realized the effort that Grissom was making to keep it together.

Greg softened his tone.

"I haven't been objective, either," he said kindly, "I keep tearing up at the mere thought of her. You know how it is."

"Yes," Grissom said softly.

"We can't help her if we go on like this."

"I know."

"We gotta stop thinking of her," Greg said firmly, "We gotta -" he took a deep breath, "We gotta forget this is about Sara -or about us. This," he said, putting a hand on a pile of files, "This is just a case like any other -just another puzzle for us to solve."

Grissom stared at him as if he were seeing him for the first time.

"You're right," he said.

Greg nodded back.

"Ok, then," he said. He unceremoniously wiped his nose with his shirt sleeve and then he looked around, "Anything I can help you with?" He asked briskly.

Grissom tilted his head in his desk direction.

"Take your pick," he said. There were files and pictures spread all over the desk.

Greg sat and picked up a file.

They worked in companionable silence for a while, each following his own line of investigation.

Suddenly, Grissom looked up sharply.

The movement was so abrupt that it immediately caught Greg's attention.

"What?"

"You've got the file on Ernie Dell there?"

"Yeah," Greg said, checking on the pile of files he'd just looked at. "Why?"

"I think I got it." Grissom said in a dazed tone.

Greg glanced at him. There was a different look on Grissom's face now. There was eagerness in there. The excitement of the chase -

But there was something else.

Hope.

-----------------------

THE END

I don't know what it is that Grissom discovered, but I sure hope it leads him to Sara!

BTW, cliff-hangers suck!


	2. Chapter 2

HOPE

Part 2

Spoiler: Living Doll part one. I haven't read any spoilers for Living Doll part two and I won't, but this is my take on what could happen.

* * *

A few hours later, a solitary SUV cut through the desert, heedless of any existing roads. Inside, Warrick drove, while Grissom scanned the dry landscape surrounding them. 

From the back seat, Greg followed Grissom's every move, waiting for some sign that they were on the right track. He was worried; it was early in the evening and the light was still good for a search, but so far they hadn't found what they were looking for. He hadn't said anything and neither had Warrick, who seemed solely focused on the task of driving, but it was starting to look like Grissom's hunch might not pay off after all.

This had been Grissom's rescue operation from the start. With nothing but a hunch to back him up, he had failed to convince the higher authorities to give him any help -which meant that official rescue operators were conducting their own search in a methodic way. They were probably miles away from this location.

Greg was starting to wonder if he should have joined them instead.

Suddenly, Grissom sat up.

"There it is," he said, pointing at the rocky wall ahead, "That's C. Poupette's mine."

"At last," muttered a relieved Warrick , "I was starting to wonder if this place existed, after all."

Grissom immediately placed a call to Nick, who had remained behind, doing his own investigation. "This was an important mine, seventy years ago," Grissom said after he hung up, "According to the records, there are tunnels crisscrossing the ground below us. Nick's studying the maps."

"And how did you connect Ernie Dell to this place?"

"He recreated an accident that occurred in 1945," Gil said. "He didn't have the miniature set at the time of his arrest, but he left pictures of it. I believe Natalie Davis based her miniature on that accident."

"What kind of accident?" Warrick asked.

"A car accident," Grissom said, "The owner, C. Poupette, died in it."

Greg wasn't paying much attention to the conversation. He was looking out the window, anxiously trying to see anything that might yield a clue. So far, he wasn't impressed. Famous mine or not, all that remained from it were a few battered down buildings perched at the edge of a cliff.

It's not like he expected to find the red car on plain sight, but he wished there were at least some sign that a human being had been there recently.

There was none.

The place looked ghostly.

He couldn't help feeling a nagging doubt again. He desperately wanted Grissom to be right but what if he wasn't? Neither he nor Warrick had had a chance to study the pictures from Ernie Dell's miniature. They'd simply followed Grissom as he improvised a rescue operation that not everybody supported. Ecklie had warned them against going on a wild-goose chase, but they didn't listen…

And now, Grissom's eyes were darting here and there, searching for something he alone knew, while explaining what Ernie Dell's miniature was all about.

"Legend has it that Poupette tried to run away with half-a-million dollars in gold," he said, "He lost control of his car, and it went over the precipice –over there!" he said suddenly, pointing at a ledge in the shape of a half-moon. "Ernie Dell's miniature was very specific!"

Greg got off the van even before it came to a complete stop. His heart was beating furiously as he ran towards the edge of the cliff. He fell on his knees as he reached the precipice and then he looked down.

The red car was there.

Greg exhaled the air that he'd been unconsciously holding. He looked over his shoulder. Grissom was using the radio and Warrick was pulling something from the trunk but they were both looking at him. Greg opened his mouth to tell them the good news but stopped when he recalled the boss recommendations. Grissom had warned them against making any sudden noises until they knew what they were dealing with. He didn't want to disturb Sara in any way. If she was hurt, then the best course was to let her lie down quietly until they were in a position to help.

Greg opted for nodding vigorously and giving them a thumbs up sign that both Warrick and Grissom understood. Visibly relieved, Grissom hurriedly finished his call and went to help Warrick with the gear.

Greg looked down again and avidly scanned the site. Sunlight was starting to fade, which made it difficult to see anything but a few shadows. Greg kept trying, anyway. He'd studied Natalie Davis's miniature set for so long that he knew exactly where Sara was, even if he couldn't see her.

In fact, the scene below looked so much like the set, that for a brief, insane moment, Greg felt that all he had to do to save Sara was to pick up the car and throw it away.

Mesmerized by this feeling, he even reached out with his hand…

Abruptly, he pulled back. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, then another. It took him a while before he could venture another look.

The sound of steps approaching forced him into movement. He stood and turned. Warrick was coming, carrying the rescue gear.

"Is she ok?" Warrick asked.

"Can't see her yet."

"Grissom called the paramedics," Warrick said, putting his load on the ground. He took a step closer to the edge and then looked down. He was stunned. "Man, how did she put that car down there?"

"She could have lowered it from here," Greg said, but the words lacked conviction. The ground seemed too unstable for that. "I guess Grissom's right. Natalie Davis must have moved the car through the old tunnels. But she got help, right? I mean, she doesn't even have a driving license. Someone helped her bring the car."

"Yeah, well, that's for Brass to find out," Warrick replied, "Our job is to get Sara free."

They were in silence for a moment.

"I wish I could call out, you know?" Greg said suddenly. "Reassure her. Let her know that she's not alone anymore -" he gulped.

Warrick took a deep breath.

"You sure you wanna do this, Greg?"

Greg looked up sharply. It sounded like Warrick was putting his abilities into question, and he resented that. But one quick look made him realize that far from doubting his skills, Warrick was simply voicing his concerns. By the compassionate look in his eyes, it was obvious that Warrick knew what Sara meant to Greg.

Greg glanced away.

"I want to do it."

Warrick cleared his throat.

"Greg," he started, "She may not be -" he hesitated. There was no way to soften what he wanted to say but he tried, "You know it's been almost 40 hours since -"

"I know," Greg said, unwilling to listen to the rest. He knew that Warrick was trying to prepare him for the worst, but he didn't want to think of the worst; he needed to believe that everything was going to be ok. It was what kept him going. He looked at Warrick again, "I need to do this." he said firmly.

Warrick nodded and wordlessly offered him a harness and a helmet.

Greg put the harness on, carefully buckling it on the front. Then he took the helmet and strapped it under his chin.

"Ready?"

Greg turned. Grissom had the safety ropes with him.

Greg stared ahead while Warrick and Grissom hooked him up. After hurriedly studying the pictures of Ernie Dell's miniature, Grissom had decided to lower Greg rather than let him climb down. He didn't know yet how secure the rocky wall was, and didn't want to risk causing a rock slide.

"Here," Grissom said, putting first-aid kits in the pockets of Greg's vest.

The young man looked down and noticed that in addition to the kits, Grissom was putting several pairs of latex gloves and clear evidence bags in his pockets.

Greg looked up in disbelief. Apparently, the boss' main concern was for the evidence. It seemed that Grissom considered this just another crime scene they ought to preserve.

"Do you have any message for Sara?" Greg asked, almost angrily.

Gil looked up but didn't say anything. Warrick intevened then. He had another harness and secured it around Greg's waist.

"This is for Sara," he said. "You might not be able to put it around her torso, but if you can get it under her arms, then it'll be ok."

Greg nodded, but his gaze remained on his boss.

With nothing else to do, Grissom just stood there, looking lost.

Grissom didn't speak until Warrick walked back to the van to check on the ropes.

"Don't try to move her," Gil said quietly, "Just make sure that she stays put while we move the car." He gulped. "Nick's bound to find a tunnel that leads us to her," he added, and to Greg, it sounded like Grissom was trying to convince himself, "But if he doesn't, we will probably bring a crane. The ground is unstable, but I'm sure we'll get clearance to use it." Gil's hand shook as he put a bottle of water in another pocket. "Give her some water. It'll be difficult if she's on a prone position, but -" he stopped.

Greg realized that Grissom's composure was beginning to crumble, and so he nodded reassuringly.

"She's gonna be all right, Grissom," he said gently. "I promise."

Gil nodded. He cleared his throat. He didn't immediately speak, though. He seemed to have trouble finding the right words to say.

"Greg?" he started, "Tell her- Tell her that -"

But before he could say what he wanted to say, they noticed that the safety rope was tensing up. They glanced at Warrick, who simply nodded at them.

"We're set," Greg said. He glanced at Grissom. "Listen... Whatever you have to say..." he tried to smile, "I'm sure she'd rather hear it from you, ok?"

Grissom looked at him for a moment, then nodded.

"Thanks, Greg."

Greg took a deep breath, then turned and took a step closer to the edge. He turned and held on to the safety rope, then braced his feet on the very edge of the cliff. After a moment, he nodded.

* * *

TBC 


	3. Chapter 3

Hope

After 'Living Doll,' A Girl Named Jake pictured Greg coming to Sara's aid, just like she did in Fannysmackers. I loved the idea and borrowed it (with her consent). Here's my version of it.

Jake also suggested a few songs but I ran out of time and could only include one.

I don't know what the new season will bring, but hopefully, it'll be good.

* * *

For Greg, being lowered was frustrating; the rope kept jerking for one thing, causing him to spin and bump against the wall. And there was nothing he could do about it; nothing, except look up and glare at Grissom, who would in turn look over his shoulder and glare at Warrick, on whose shoulders the whole operation rested. 

But once Warrick got it right, Greg found himself descending steadily. Now when he looked down, he no longer felt that he was looking at the miniature set; there were changes in the scene that Natalie couldn't had foreseen. The rain alone had done a lot of damage; it had turned the ground into a muddy river that had uprooted small bushes and dragged them towards the precipice. It didn't disturb the car, though, and for that, Greg was grateful.

Greg was straining his eyes, searching for Sara. He was looking for footprints, anything that revealed human presence.

And suddenly, he saw her. She was lying under the car just like the doll, prone, with her right arm reaching out… And yet, he could not believe it.

All along, a part of him had held on to a tiny hope that Sara wouldn't be there; that Natalie Davis' story of the kidnapping was just a product of her deluded mind, and that Sara would be somewhere else, perfectly safe and completely unaware of the uproar surrounding her absence.

Because if Sara was under that car, then all was lost. He didn't care what Natalie Davis said; nobody could survive being crushed under a car.

"Sara," he whispered, and the word came almost as a sob.

The sound of his own voice startled him. There was despair in it, as if he were giving up even before he'd had a chance to do anything. The realization sobered him. Surely there was a lot he could do. He owed it to Sara.

After a moment, Greg forced himself to look again, this time determined to act like an investigator. First, he took in the position of the car, and the area surrounding it. Then he looked at Sara again. He didn't dare to call out to her, so he only studied her.

Her arm caught his attention; there was something odd about it, but even when he realized what it was, his mind refused to believe it. It was just too gruesome to consider: It looked like Sara's fingers had been severed, leaving just the stumps!

But as he got closer, his mind offered a different, more logical explanation: Her fingers were simply buried in the mud.

It was then that he saw the deep grooves crisscrossing the muddy surface around her; a four-line design that her fingers left as she tried to crawl out from under the car, or dig herself out; it was hard to say what her intention was. That the hard ground underneath had thwarted Sara's efforts hardly mattered now; what mattered was that Sara had fought back.

She wasn't crushed under the car.

The realization energized him.

Greg called out Sara's name again, louder this time. 'Please,' he added next.

He thought he saw Sara's hand move slightly but it was hard to tell from the angle he was in. And the rope was jerking again, making it difficult for him to look. But there was a sound now. A moan.

Greg hurriedly took off his helmet, and this time he heard it distinctly. Not a moan but a sort of hum.

"Nnnnn-n-n -"

Greg let out the air he didn't realize he'd been holding in.

"SHE'S OK!" he screamed, completely forgetting Grissom's warning, or the fact that he had a cell phone in his pocket. He was just too happy to hold back; Sara was conscious, Sara was ok…

Greg looked up in Grissom's direction but one last ray of sunlight hit him in the face just then, and he had to close his eyes for a moment.

"SHE'S OK!" he repeated anyway. He looked back at Sara. He couldn't see her face yet, but he saw her hand suddenly jerk free from their muddy prison. Her arm moved spasmodically, and Greg suddenly feared that she might be having a seizure.

"Sara?"

"Nnnn-nnn-o. No!" She managed a word at last, "NO!"

"It's ok, Sara," he called out, "We're gonna get you out of there -"

"N-n-no -" she stammered hoarsely, and then she said, in words he could barely understand, that the ground was unstable.

"It's ok," Greg said to placate her, but as soon as his feet touched the ground he realized her warnings were justified. The sun had dried out most of the mud but water had welled up in some areas, and when he stepped on one, he slipped and fell on his butt.

The helmet flew from his hand; it rolled down the precipice and crashed against the rocks.

"Greg!" she cried out, blindly reaching out for him. From her prone position she couldn't see him and she certainly couldn't do much, yet her instinct was to try to bring him to safety.

Greg crawled in her direction and grabbed her hand.

"I'm fine," he said, "I'm wearing a harness, Sara; I'm not gonna fall -"

She dropped her head in relief. She didn't move for a while, seemingly exhausted after that brief burst of energy.

Greg was struck by the reality of her situation. She was trapped under the car and she could barely move. She was probably injured... And all he could do was hold her hand as tightly as he could and try to find out how she was. She seemed too tired to talk but she tried to respond by applying some pressure on his hand.

He looked down at her hand; it was clammy and cold, and badly damaged, too. Her fingernails were broken, the skin of her fingertips torn and bloody.

Horrified, Greg realized he was probably hurting her, but when he tried to ease his grip, she refused to let go.

"It's ok," he whispered again. "I'm not going away. Listen -are you hurt? I've got some supplies with me -"

Suddenly, she started to shake; for a moment he thought she was crying but she wasn't. She was shaking her head 'no,' and saying something he couldn't understand. He dragged himself leant closer; her voice was hoarse, as if she'd been screaming -which she probably had.

"Shouldn't be here," she whispered. "Dan…ger…ous -"

"Hey, it's ok, Sara." Greg said brightly, "Danger is my middle name."

"Mud… Un…stable -"

"I know. But we're safe. We're gonna be rescued, Sara. Meanwhile, I got something here -" he deftly unbuckled the extra harness with his free hand. "I brought a harness for you. I'll put it around your shoulders, ok? I need you to -" he let the world trail off but she understood. She lifted one arm. "Can I…?" he asked, without waiting for an answer. He gently lifted her head, then managed to secure the harness under one shoulder.

He hesitated for a moment then, bracing himself for the worst, gently lifted the hair off her face.

She blinked at him. If she was surprised at seeing his face upside-down, she didn't say so. Talking wasn't easy, in the first place; she had lain for so long on the mud that it had hardened on her, turning into a mask. Half a mask, that is. It wasn't so bad -or so he thought until he noticed the dark stains streaking the mud.

Blood?

"How -" she whispered.

"How did we find you?" Greg asked. She nodded. "Grissom did." He noticed how her eyes lit up at the mention of his name, and he wondered if she'd been reacting like this to the sound of his name all along and he'd never noticed.

Better not think about it.

"I've got some water," he said in a cheerful tone, "Want some?" He held the bottle for her with his other hand. "I'm gonna clean your face -" But when he tried to release her hand she started to shake again.

"Hair," she said.

"Hair?" Greg frowned, "You want me to clean your hair first?"

"Hair," she repeated, "Hers," and then, with an effort, she explained. She'd managed to pull some hairs off her assailant's head and put them in her front pocket. "Ev-evidence -" she stammered.

Greg hesitated between admiration and disbelief.

"I'll take care of it later," he said, "Right now you need the water."

But she shook her head again. She evidently wanted him to take care of it now.

"Sara?" he said, and he laid a hand on her cheek to catch her attention. "I'm not here for the evidence," he said gently. Then, echoing the words she'd said to him only a few months before, he added, "I'm here for you."

She stopped moving. When she looked at him, her eyes were filled with tears.

He pretended not to notice. He knew she didn't like to appear vulnerable.

"Hey, I'm gonna clean you up, ok?" he said instead. He took some gauze from a pocket, "I mean, I know you girls use mud for beauty purposes and all, but this is ridiculous, Sara."

He was being deliberately casual, hoping to turn her mind –and his- from reality. But it worked; she smiled. And she whispered something.

"Worst spa in the world," she said.

Greg smiled back, then focused on his task. Little by little, he removed the dry mud.

"You know, this is like a fantasy come true for me," he said conversationally. "You, me, a deserted place. Of course, this is not the kind of deserted place I had in mind -"

"How long…?" she asked.

Greg immediately understood.

"Two days," he said. He was discovering to his relief that apart from a few scratches, Sara's face was all right. She'd bled, though, and so he set about disinfecting the wounds. "This will sting -"

She endured it.

"Two days," she whispered. She closed her eyes.

Suddenly, a shrill sound made both of them jump. It was Greg's cell phone.

Warrick's voice pierced his ear as soon as he took the call.

"What is going on down there? How is she?"

Turning away so Sara wouldn't hear, Greg gave Warrick a preliminary description of her position under the car, and her general condition.

"She's not in pain. But she's cold Warrick; we need blankets down here. Do we have any soup or milk or -" He paused when he heard a raised voice in the background. "Is that Grissom?"

"Yeah. He's going ballistic. The rescue operators can't make a decision over who's got jurisdiction here -can you believe that? Listen, I'm gonna lower you some provisions, ok? A couple of blankets, some hot soup. Now, do you see any tracks on the ground? Any signs that the car was dragged or pushed, or whatever?"

Greg raised his head and glanced around.

"The rain washed away all traces," he said, "I see broken branches along the wall to my right, but that could have been the rain."

"Uh, huh," Warrick said, obviously taking notes.

Warrick set out to work after he hung up, and soon he lowered some blankets and a thermos filled with hot soup.

It wasn't much, but Sara wasn't hungry. The combined smells of the mud and the car made her sick.

"I puked," she confessed.

"Hey, I don't blame you," Greg said, "This mud stinks." And yet he didn't hesitate to lie down on it. He folded his arm under his head, then looked at her. In the last half-hour he'd lain close to her and touched her face, and done things he'd only dreamed of…

And it didn't mean anything.

She was someone else's now.

There was sadness in the realization but also a kind of joy. He was with Sara now; this moment -this moment was his alone.

"Hey, wanna take a nap?" he asked.

Sara shook her head.

"Ok, we'll talk, then," he said good-naturedly. Idly, he picked a piece of dried mud and after turning it over for a moment, he smiled mischievously, "You know what it remind me of? Those cookies I found in the break room last week."

She chuckled.

The cookies were tucked in the back of a cabinet and they were seriously old, but he didn't care; he was too hungry (_and _broke) to be squeamish.

He was about to wolf down the cookies, when somebody suddenly barged into the room and slapped them out of his hand. Sara.

"You acted like I was about to eat arsenic or something," he teased.

They smiled at each other.

"You're a good friend, Sara."

"You, too," she said. Then she hesitated. "Sorry I got you into this."

"Hey, everyone's involved," he said. "In fact, we had to fight over who was coming down to help you, and I won." His smile faded after a moment, "Seriously, Sara. We're not alone. There's someone up there -"

"God?" she smiled.

"Well, yeah. But I know how you feel about religious beliefs, so forget it. What I mean is, there's someone up there looking after us. He defied Ecklie and others in order to come here."

Sara nodded. Greg didn't say the name but she knew who he meant.

Greg looked curiously at her. She hadn't let on her feelings for Grissom, and she probably would not. Sara was a very private person and he respected her for that, but... All the same, there was something that needed to be said. And while it was the kind of thing that she should hear from Grissom, Greg had the feeling that Grissom hadn't said them -and never would.

But Sara deserved to know.

"He says you're the only person he's ever loved."

Sara looked up sharply.

"He took us by surprise," Greg added sheepishly. "I mean, who would have thought, right?"

The words didn't have the effect he was hoping for. Sara didn't seem overjoyed. She seemed sad.

Greg tried to cheer her up.

"Hey, we're all happy for you two. I mean, in case you think it'll be awkward at the lab -"

She shook her head.

"Can't feel my legs," she whispered.

Greg froze.

"I can't," she added.

Greg took a deep breath. He wanted to dismiss her worries but he knew better than that.

"You've held the same position for two days now, Sara," he said calmly. "Blood circulation ought to be restored. It's only a temporary situation," he said firmly. "You'll see."

She shook her head.

"Can't bear to be a burden -"

Greg didn't know what to say to convince her. In the end, he started telling her about the rescue operation, and how Grissom had put two and two together.

"He recalled that Ernie Dell had made a miniature set of a famous old mine -Henry Poupette's Mine. He even included the car accident Poupette died in -in 1942." He glance around, "This is the site. Grissom believes Natalie Davis came along while Ernie Dell researched the place."

"Natalie -"

"Ernie's daughter," Greg said. "The miniature killer. She used you to recreate that car accident."

"She fooled me -"

"Yeah, well. We got her, now." He said, and enjoyed the look of surprise that Sara gave him. "Yep, we did," he boasted.

Sara sighed in relief. Then she shook her head.

"Stupid," she whispered.

"Actually, she's smart as hell," Greg countered.

"Not her. Me."

"Oh, Sara…" Greg sighed. "She's cunning. She tricked you."

"She hada stun gun," Sara said. Then, little by little, she told Greg what happened. Once Sara was close enough, Davis had used a stun gun on her, then chloroform. By the time Sara came out of the fog she was tied down in the back of a car. Someone other than Natalie was driving -there was no doubt about it; Natalie was in the back seat with her, singing endless songs about dead dolls, and clueless princes looking for princesses for all eternity.

There was nothing subtle about that last part; at one point, she'd looked directly into Sara's eyes and whispered. 'Grissom will never find you. He'll look and look, and he'll lose sleep, and he'll be so, so sad…'

"But Grissom did find you," Greg replied, "Natalie's obsession with dolls helped him, by the way; the word poupeé's French for _doll_ -he made the connection to Poupette."

"Why did she do it?"

Greg shook his head.

"You taught me not to sweat over motives," he said. "The evidence points to her and that's all we need to know."

Sara closed her eyes.

"I didn't know for how long -" she whispered. "I thought -" She reluctantly admitted that she'd been disoriented at times. There were moments when she didn't know whether she was dreaming the car and the desert and the rain, or whether she'd only dreamed that she was Sara Sidle, with Grissom and Greg and the lab as only products of her imagination.

"Then there was this song that kept going on and on in my head," she said and to Greg's surprise, she managed to sing a few lines:

I think you know

I realize when you wake up

that sometimes I appear unfamiliar

but these prints can't lie

"I know that song," Greg smiled, and he added a line, too, "_And I will always, always, I will watch over you_ -"

Her eyes filled with tears.

"It helped me," she said. "Somehow, I held on to the hope that I was Sara Sidle, and that somebody cared bout me."

"Lots of people care about you," he said. Then he smiled, "But how many of them can say they'd lain next to you and held your hand? Huh?"

Sara was about to reply when suddenly, she frowned.

"What's that?" she asked.

Greg frowned. He didn't immediately notice anything was amiss. It was getting late and it was growing chilly, even a bit windy, but that was all. Then, suddenly, he heard it; underneath the hum of the wind, there was a distant roar that seemed to be increasing in volume.

They looked at each other.

"Earthquake?" she asked.

"No way," he said aloud. To his surprise, Sara's mouth twitched. "What?" he asked and leant closer again.

"Hodges' farts." she whispered with surprising glee, and he found himself chuckling in response. Henry had often told them about Hodges' legendary farts, which he claimed to hear from his own lab.

Greg was still smiling when he felt the first drop of water fall on his head.

He looked up and saw the dark, menacing clouds above. He couldn't believe he didn't notice those before.

Sara didn't see the clouds but did hear as the first raindrops fell on the car.

"Oh, no -" she whispered.

"It's ok, Sara," he said calmly. "We're going to be -"

But before he could finish, rain started to fall in huge, bullet-sized drops that made a deafening racket as they hit the car. Greg felt as if a thousand needles were piercing his back. He wrapped an arm around her and prayed for it to be over soon.

Suddenly, she cried.

"It's moving!"

She was right; the car was moving. Loosened by the rain, the mud was quickly melting, turning into a river that was dragging everything in its path.

"The ropes will hold!" he yelled but he wasn't so sure.

"I'm so sorry, Greg," she said sincerely.

"Hey, don't sweat it," he said, smiling good-naturedly. "This is just another fantasy about to come true for me. Just hold on to me!"

"Greg?" Sara had to yell to be heard over the roar of the rain, "I may not be able to get out of this."

Greg pulled back.

"What are you talking about?"

"The car," she said, "It's dragging me away. Listen. You got to let go of me in case I -"

Greg was shaking his head even before she finished.

"Can't do that," he yelled back, "I promised to get you back to Grissom!"

"Let go of me," she sobbed in his ear. "Please."

Greg shook his head and held her more tightly.

"I can't. If I do, it'll kill me. It'll kill him -"

Sara stopped fighting. She held on to Greg as the car started to drag them towards the precipice. Greg was frantically trying to grab a rock or a root, anything that he might hold on to, but he couldn't see anything. There was only the gray of the falling rain and the dark mud -

And suddenly, he felt something grabbing at his legs, just as Sara was relentlessly pulled away. They held on to each other's arms and hands for as long as they could but they were not as strong. Greg stretched his arms but found only emptiness.

And then, a yell.

"I got him!"

And Greg found himself being dragged to safety by Nick Stokes, who'd grabbed him by the ankles before he got dragged into the precipice.

"Get Sara!" Greg yelled, but Nick calmly pointed.

Greg saw the lights, then. A half-a-dozen lights moving about like giant fireflies. They were swarming Sara and the car. Then Greg saw the helmets and the faces. Rescue workers.

As if by magic, Greg saw the car being lifted and then thrown away, just like a toy.

And then he saw Sara at last. They were strapping her onto a stretcher. Greg took a step in her direction but someone got to her first. Grissom. Greg saw him throw his helmet away and kneel beside her. He wrapped his arms around her.

Nobody moved, until Sara lifted her hand and touched Gil's cheek.

"She's responding!" Someone yelled, and they immediately lifted the stretcher.

"You ok?" Nick yelled, helping Greg back on his feet.

"Yeah! How did you get here?"

"We found a tunnel!"

Greg's gaze was still on Grissom and Sara.

"How is she?" Nick asked.

"She's ok," Greg said. "She'll be fine," he added with conviction.

He had hope.

* * *

THE END

Note:

It's Friday 28 and all I can say is I LOVED LAST NIGHT'S EPISODE! I loved the fact that Sara saved herself. Last May I was indignant at the rumor that Sara might die under the car, so I'm absolutely thrilled that it wasn't so.

Oh, and I'm thrilled that I got the part of the stun gun right, too. It stood to reason, right? I mean how else would Natalie subdue a strong woman?


End file.
